


One Two Three

by ShoyDragon



Series: According to John [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: An Experiment in Self Control, Drabble, John's POV, M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-18
Updated: 2012-09-18
Packaged: 2017-11-14 13:33:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/515736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShoyDragon/pseuds/ShoyDragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Good. We’ll start from where we left off.” He approached me with confidence, grabbing my hands and manipulating my limbs into what was apparently the proper position. My face burned with embarrassment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Two Three

**Author's Note:**

> Written for sherlockedart for the Johnlock gift exchange on tumblr. The prompt was: "An experiment in self control. (Whatever that means for the writer!) Any rating." I hope I didn't stray TOO far from the prompt, and I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Thanks to Alex and Devin for assuring me that this was worth posting. Sorry it's so late!

“And that, Anderson, is why you should kindly bugger off and let me take a look.”

I chuckled and shook my head, enjoying the look of horror on the forensics man’s face as Sherlock so eloquently shut him down. We were at another crime scene, and Anderson was being particularly nasty. The victim had been stabbed multiple times in the abdomen, from what Lestrade had told us as we arrived, but Sherlock and I had not had a chance to see the body yet due to Anderson being an idiot.

“May we go in now?” Sherlock asked pleasantly before swooping past without waiting for a reply. I met Anderson’s gaze as I followed and repressed the urge to stick my tongue out at him. Bloody interfering git.

As I entered the room, Sherlock was already kneeling next to the body and examining the victim’s fingernails with a focused glare. True to Lestrade’s summary, the victim had indeed been stabbed thirteen times in the chest and stomach.

“Stab wounds aren’t the cause of death,” I informed Sherlock as I walked around to the victim’s head. “There’s not nearly enough blood here. And all of those cut are too clean; had to have been made post-mortem.” I knelt next to my flat mate and tried to ignore the swoop in my stomach as I caught a whiff of his shampoo. “What do you think?”

Sherlock glanced up and shot me a small smile before nodding towards the victim’s throat. “She was asphyxiated, obviously. Not here, but she was moved here very soon after death and stabbed on-site. What was the murder weapon?”

I leaned over to study the woman’s neck more carefully and brushed hands with Sherlock as I tried to steady myself. The layers of latex between our fingers did nothing to stifle the spark that leapt up my spine at the contact, and I turned my head quickly to hide my blush.

“Looks like some form of cloth,” I observed, running a hand along the victim’s throat carefully. “The bruising is faint and spread fairly evenly along her neck. Was she tied to something?”

“I would guess a bedpost,” Sherlock said smoothly, standing up. “I’m sure once the police have run all the necessary tests they will find that she had sex right before she died.” He snapped off his gloves. “Auto-erotic asphyxiation; an accidental death… So why move her body and stage it to look like a particularly violent murder? Clearly her lover didn’t want her husband to know about their affair. Come, John, Lestrade can find the lover on his own, we’ve got an experiment to return to.” With a swirl of his coat, Sherlock left me to scramble after him, still blushing slightly. I was not looking forward to returning to anything. I had hoped Sherlock would have been distracted enough to forget what we were doing before Greg had called… Apparently not.

Once Sherlock had told Greg who he was looking for, we climbed into the back of a cab and headed back to Baker Street. The entire trip was passed in a tense silence that I wanted desperately to break but did not dare. As the cab pulled to the curb, Sherlock turned to me. “Go upstairs while I pay and get ready. Same position as we were in before. Don’t touch ANYTHING.” 

I nodded and clambered out of the cab, hurrying inside and up the seventeen steps to our front room. I turned towards the door and waited for Sherlock as I toed off my shoes. I heard the door slam downstairs and couldn’t repress the shudder that ran up my spine.

Sherlock appeared at the top of the stairs and looked me over before smiling smugly. “Excellent. You remember what we did this morning, yes?”

I nodded again, not trusting myself to speak.

“Good. We’ll start from where we left off.” He approached me with confidence, grabbing my hands and manipulating my limbs into what was apparently the proper position. My face burned with embarrassment. “Honestly, John, it’s not that difficult.”

“Course you would say that, you’re the one who knows what he’s doing,” I bit back, suddenly annoyed. “I don’t understand why we have to do this at all, Sherlock.” He was way too close and I could feel my self-control slipping. If he smiled at me one more time I was going to have to punch him. Or maybe kiss him. I hadn’t decided which yet.

“You need to learn how to dance if you ever hope to impress Mother when you meet her this Christmas. Now quit fidgeting and hold me closer. This waltz is supposed to be intimate.”

God, why couldn’t Greg’s case have been more interesting? Praying that Sherlock wouldn’t notice just how _intimate_ my prick was clearly hoping we’d get, I shifted my hand to better grip his hip and followed his lead as he started counting under his breath into my ear.

“One, two, three. One, two, three. Closer, John, that’s it.”

It was going to be a long night.


End file.
